


Phone Home

by ghostystarr



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Humor, M/M, Outer Space, Romance, Slow Burn, which means space puns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 13:27:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6241063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostystarr/pseuds/ghostystarr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oikawa Tooru is currently orbiting Earth at 445 kilometers per minute, but falling in love with the voice in his ear makes it feel so much slower than that. AU Iwaoi.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phone Home

**Author's Note:**

> bc my dear friend ruined me with astronaut Oikawa, and anyone who knows me can tell you how long I've been waiting to write space puns.
> 
> So many creative liberties were taken with this because what I've learned about space comes from Bill Nye the Science Guy.

Oikawa Tooru is always asked by fans and reporters what it’s like to be in space.

"Cold. It's always so damn cold," he’ll say. The suits block out the effects of the chill, but it still roots into his bones, leaving him breathless and light. He can always see his breath, yet oddly he never feels warmer – more alive – than when he can embrace the freedom of space.

"Lonely," he also says. "It gets unbearably lonely." An astronaut can be forced to spend months at a time in space, with no one but himself, a ship, and distant voices coming through a faint radio signal for company. Though, Oikawa never minded being on his own. In fact, he likes the solitude, the idea that he is the only one to have done this.

"Beautiful," he says. "It’s so beautiful." Oikawa has never seen anything more gorgeous than witnessing a flurry of shooting stars, their growing light illuminating the cloud-like gasses swirling around them in glorious reds and blues and all the shades in between as it passes his home planet.

There is nothing more Oikawa likes than being up there. He fills report after report with his observations, marvels at the chain of impossible events that has led humanity to existence, and keeps a close watch on his ship’s status.

Currently, Oikawa is just one day into his five-month-long orbital mission around the globe. His main mission is to observe and record. It’s boring and tedious and his ship is tight on living space, but he doesn’t care because he can float around in zero gravity as Abba blares from the control panels and eat peanut butter out of midair. It’s his second time in space, but before he was one of six astronauts on a maintenance mission and achieved international fame for a series of comical videos documenting his misadventures that had gone viral. Soon his looks and charisma had given him seats on every talk show from Ellen to SNL. The name Oikawa Tooru was household.

NASA used it to their advantage. A shining young face in the field of exciting space travel, someone for the women to romanticize and the men to idolize and the gray area of the population in between to do both, made for a great opportunity to re-spark interest in the hearts of tax payers and sponsors.

Oikawa doesn’t mind. His first and only love has been space, and she was a cruel maiden full of isolation and risk. It’s something Oikawa understood when he first signed up for all the physics and astronomical classes when he was eighteen: astronauts are alone.

He’s had a string of casual lovers. Men and women for a night or two, but nothing serious. He’s watched how his comrades’ families were torn apart by spouses who grew tired of waiting, who would rather be exes than widows. Oikawa doesn’t blame them for wanting families, can’t blame them for love, but when he sees them holding faded photographs with pain in their eyes he wonders if it's worth the heartbreak.

It’s currently 6:45 AM Eastern Standard Time. Sunrise in Cape Canaveral. Time for his morning report.

“Lightyear to Star Command. Come in, Star Command,” he says with a finger to his earpiece.

There’s a crackle of static before, _“They warned me you might say that.”_

This is someone new. This voice is deep, rich, and distinctly male. It sounds irritated already, which makes for some promising entertainment later. Oikawa grins as he pulls himself closer to the radio and twiddles with the settings. “What else did they say about me?”

_“That you have 'shitty taste in music' and 'want to fight the ISS.'”_

“My music is _seasoned_ and the ISS might as well have hired chimps and had better chances.”

_“Someone sounds bitter.”_

“The only thing I’m bitter about,” Oikawa says, “is the atrocity they call Internet connection up here. Worse than Dial-up. Couldn’t even watch the finale of _Dancing with the Stars._ You don’t happen to know who won, do you?”

The voice stops, perplexed. _“I… what? I don’t know.”_

“Could you find out for me?” Oikawa asks as he floats past a window. He sees nothing but blackness and distant stars.

_“My job is to listen to your reports and make sure you’re not going to open your windows.”_

Oikawa laughs at the dry tone. “Strictly business, eh? C’mon, you’re my only contact with the world below, you know.”

The voice doesn’t falter. _“I could remind you that you volunteered for five months in solitary confinement.”_

“I get the feeling you didn’t exactly jump first in line to get this job.”

 _“On the contrary, who wouldn’t want this chance?”_ The voice is dripping with sarcasm. _“Who wouldn’t be willing to bend over backwards and leap through flaming hoops for the honor to work with the absolute symbol of hope that is Oikawa Tooru?”_

Oikawa whistles. “Not a fan, then.”

The voice falters. _“I just don’t think the word glamor describes an observational mission. The tabloids treat you like you’re a damn Backstreet Boy.”_

Oikawa breaks into laughter. “A Backstreet Boy? I can only dream.”

_“Your dream, my nightmare.”_

Oikawa grins at the titanium ceiling. “Shall I tell you my observations now?”

_“Please.”_

.

The second day, Oikawa receives the same voice. “Good morning, Vietnam!” is what he shouts into the radio with all the gusto a man trapped in a box floating in the vacuum of space can muster.

_“Has space madness erased your concept of geography? Or am I just horribly lost?”_

Oikawa hums in faux thought. “I’m inclined to believe the latter.”

_“Then Vietnam looks terrifyingly like Orlando.”_

“It all looks the same from up here,” Oikawa says and looks out the window at the perfect sphere that is his home.

_“And your report?”_

“The same, too.”

He receives a sigh after that, like the man is trying hard to keep ahold of his patience. _“Can I have the numbers?”_

Oikawa hums as he dips his head back. “Say the magic word.”

_“Now.”_

“No fun.” Oikawa shakes his head but complies and does his job. He manages to sneak a few jabs and flirts in, just to be a pain, but the voice isn’t having it. It’s the same dry, ‘get-me-out-of-this-situation’ tone the entire time, and Oikawa finds himself desperately trying to break through that façade.

When it’s finished, Oikawa asks again about _Dancing with the Stars_ and gets the same reply. _“Your mission is to take pictures and write numbers. Mine is to confirm them. Nothing more.”_

.

The tenth day, Oikawa starts the conversation with a question. “If a satellite blows up in space but no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?”

The voice answers him. _“If you can’t see a man’s brain, how do you know he even has one?”_

Oikawa smirks. “That couldn’t possibly be directed towards me, could it?”

 _“Of course not,”_ the voice says sweetly.

“Thought not.” Oikawa kicks himself off of his seat in order to fetch his notes from the other side of the ship. He floats past the window and looks out at the Earth, feels another surge of excitement of where he is, and almost misses what his correspondent says. “Sorry,” he places a finger on his earpiece, “can you repeat that?”

_“I said I don’t have time for games today so just give me your numbers.”_

Oikawa immediately breaks into a dangerous grin. “Give me your numbers…?” he trails off expectantly.

_“Oikawa, seriously, I have about a hundred other things I need to get done today.”_

Oikawa coos at him with faux pity. “Poor desk jockey. It must be so hard with your gravity and stable Internet connection and food that doesn’t float away when you try to eat it.”

The voice sighs in exasperation and it sends a victorious little thrill through him. _“Oikawa.”_

“Yes, Desk Jockey-chan?”

_“Please.”_

Oikawa doesn’t gloat, but he does chuckle. “I’m just teasing you,” he says, “I was on my way to get my notes is all.”

_“Dick.”_

He laughs in surprise because the voice hasn’t slipped from his professional tone once yet and it’s strangely exciting to hear it do so. The voice seems to have realized his mistake, because he fumbles through a half-apology, half-insult and Oikawa just gives him his numbers.

 _“Thank you,”_ the voice says, embarrassed, once they’ve finished.

“See you tomorrow.”

.

The fourteenth day, Oikawa’s clever greeting is supplanted with a sneeze instead.

_“Bless you.”_

“Thank you, Desk Jockey-chan.”

_“Are we still on that?”_

“An elephant never forgets.”

_“Did you just call yourself big and fat?”_

Oikawa puffs out his cheeks. “I’ll have you know that elephants are highly intelligent, loving animals!”

_“That make a lot of noise and stomp around a lot. Yeah, I can see it now.”_

“Rude!” But Oikawa is smiling. It’s been boring lately. His numbers are virtually the same every day and there are no signs of the things NASA wants him to see. His Internet has been pretty much unusable for the last two weeks and even though mission control has promised him that it would be fixed soon, there’s little hope left. He’s already exhausted the copies of _X-Files_ and _Friends_ he’s brought along on his laptop, and he’s almost out of movies, too. Slowly, talking to this voice in his ear is becoming the most entertaining part of his day.

_“Does this make you Dumbo?”_

“All right. Don’t push it.” Oikawa laughs and gives his numbers. There’s little chatter this time, but the cold tension Oikawa senses isn’t as strong as before. The correspondent is just about to go when Oikawa blurts without thinking, “Wait!”

_“What is it?”_

Oikawa hastens for something to say, some sort of conversation starter, but he’s always been crap at menial things like small talk and chitchat. He chews on his lip. “Uh… how are you?”

There’s a long pause, a crackle of static, and then, _“What?”_

“U-uh, yeah. You know, how’s life back home?”

_“…Why?”_

“What do you mean, ‘why’?” Oikawa rubs the back of his neck. “I’m curious.”

_“It’s just that you’ve never asked anything about me before.”_

Is that true? Oikawa supposes their conversations have been rather one-sided and promptly panics. “It’s been two weeks and I’m already bored. Entertain me!”

It’s the wrong thing to say, but the voice just sighs like he was expecting it. _“I burnt my lap.”_

Oikawa, who was expecting a gruff reminder that his job is to make sure Oikawa is doing his and a swift disconnect, blinks. “What?”

_“I knocked my mug of coffee over while starting up my computer and burnt the hell out of my lap. It looks like I wet myself.”_

Oikawa sniggers and when the voice tells him to shut up he just erupts into hearty laughter. “I’m sorry,” he chants as he gets himself under control. “I wasn’t expecting you to say that.”

The voice huffs. _“Then why bother asking?”_

“No, no,” Oikawa interjects, “I’m glad you did. And, I’ve been there, man.”

_“You’ve been where exactly?”_

“When I was a trainee,” Oikawa tells him wistfully, “you know – young, beautiful, with my whole life ahead of me –” The voice groans. “I was waiting in line with the other trainees for lunch. This douche canoe reaches for the last carton of apple juice at the same time I did. We didn’t get along, never had, and fought like twelve year olds over this juice box. It ended up bursting all over me and our commander kept asking who smelt like rotten fruit.”

_“Oh my God.”_

“Yep.”

The voice lets out a long exhale that might have been an airy laugh. Oikawa grins. _“You are the most childish person I’ve ever… How the hell did they let you go into space? By yourself?”_

Oikawa grins harder. “Because I’m the best at what I do. Rotten fruit or not.”

_“Yeah, right, and I'm - crap – I have to go. Irihata is calling for attention. Er, was there anything else you’d like to report?”_

Oikawa shakes his head even though the other couldn’t see. “Nope. Thanks, though. It was nice, yanno, to think about something other than numbers for a minute.”

There’s a long, heavy pause. _“Right. I’ll… I’ll talk you tomorrow then.”_

“Talk to you tomorrow.”

.

The twentieth day, Oikawa’s computer goes a little wonky. The display keeps flickering on and off and, since it’s sort of the only thing telling him how much oxygen he has, it’s pretty damn important that it stays functional. So he kicks open the panels and crawls under with a flashlight in his mouth, a box of tools, and a manual that keeps floating away from him. Just as he picks up a screwdriver, there’s a little beep in his ear.

_“You’re late.”_

Oikawa spits the flashlight out of his mouth. “Sorry, dear, I’ve got a little problem up here.”

The voice’s tone changes immediately. _“What do you mean? What sort of problem? Are you all right?”_

Oikawa twists the screw off of another panel and squints at the mess of copper wiring inside. “Aw, it’s kind of you to worry, Desk Jockey-chan, but need I remind you that I am a professional who has this completely under con— _gah!”_ He jumps in surprise when one of the wires sparks and sends a little zap through his fingers. “FUCK.”

_“Oikawa?”_

“I’m fine, I’m fine. Damn thing shocked me is all.”

The voice chuckles. _“Under control, huh?”_

“Shush.”

_“Such a professional.”_

“I said shush you.”

_“The great Oikawa Tooru. Master of astronomic travel.”_

“I don’t like this side of you,” Oikawa says gruffly. “Go back to being grumpy.”

_“What’s the magic word?”_

Oikawa blinks in surprise, but he feels like he just won a prize. He grins. “Stooped to my level at last?”

_“Why should I try reasoning with an elephant?”_

Oikawa bumps his head off of the console. “OW.”

 _“I_ felt _that.”_

He rubs at it as he crawls out from underneath the panels and glares in dismay at his fuzzy screen. “What you feel, then, is my agonizing defeat.”

_“You’re actually admitting that you’re defeated? I'm shocked.”_

“All challenges can be overcome,” Oikawa reassures him. “I suppose you’ll want my numbers first.”

_“I do have a schedule to keep, too. You’re not the only one facing defeat here.”_

“That’s true. Hold on.” Oikawa fetches his report, lists off his findings, and listens as the voice repeats them back to him. “That everything you need?”

_“I think so.”_

“Great. Because now I have a date with a super computer.”

He’s just about to sign off when the voice says, _“By the way…”_

Oikawa pushes his earpiece closer to his ear, trying to block out the static. “Hm?”

For a few moments, there’s nothing but more static, a stark reminder of the quaking distance between him and humanity. Then, his NASA correspondent speaks again.

_“It was Bindi Irwin. She won Dancing with the Stars this season.”_

Oikawa pauses with a wire in each hand and stares at nothing. His heart feels slightly tighter than before.

_“Oikawa?”_

“I fucking knew she would.”

The voice chuckles and Oikawa thinks it sounds a tiny bit fond. _“You’re absolutely ridiculous.”_

.

“Hey, what’s your name?” Oikawa asks on the thirtieth day.

 _“What?”_ the voice asks. He doesn’t sound like he’d been paying attention.

“Your name. I’d like to know it. It’s been, like, a month and I still don’t know it! Doesn’t that seem weird? It sorta feels like I’m talking to a robot or an alien or something up here. Wait a minute.” Oikawa gasps. _“Are_ you an alien?”

_“That question unfortunately does not compute with my settings.”_

“Robot, then? I _knew_ NASA had robots!”

The voice snorts. _“It’s Iwaizumi.”_

“Huh?”

 _“My name,”_ he clarifies, _“is Iwaizumi Hajime.”_

Oikawa smiles, feels something foreign resonating in him, and closes one eye as he pretends to squish the Earth between his thumb and his forefinger. “Nice to meet you, Iwaizumi Hajime.”

.

By March, Oikawa has learned how to handle Iwaizumi, and they’ve fallen into an uneasy friendship. Oikawa whines and Iwaizumi scolds. Oikawa sings and Iwaizumi cuts off his audio. Oikawa gives him his numbers and Iwaizumi listens.

Their conversations become longer, more frequent, shooting from a few minutes once a day to several times a day for hours. Iwaizumi tells him about his life; how he likes volleyball and dinosaurs and rock music and, of course, space. Oikawa learns about Iwaizumi’s personal life like his friends and his family and he also learns, interestingly, about his dating life – or lack of. It makes Oikawa smile for days when Iwaizumi claims that he doesn’t have the time to date anyone when he spends hours just chatting away with Oikawa.

Shitty-kawa, Baka-kawa, Oikawa receives all of these nicknames as he teases and taunts. They should make Oikawa annoyed, should be insulting, but Oikawa has learned better and he knows that the nastier Iwaizumi gets, the more he likes someone.

“You must like me a whole lot,” Oikawa tells him one day after Iwaizumi finishes cussing him out for accidentally starting a small chemical fire that Oikawa totally had under control.

 _“If you die, there’d be a lot of paperwork for me to fill out,”_ Iwaizumi states, deadpan.

Oikawa hums. “Wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”

_“You’ll have to stay alive then.”_

“Seems that way.”

Oikawa wonders what Iwaizumi’s smile looks like. He thinks about the NASA correspondent constantly; the color of his hair and his eyes, the shape of his nose, the build of his body. He pictures a tough face and short hair, and eyes black like the endless space Oikawa loves to get lost in.

 _“Why do you want to know what I look like?”_ Iwaizumi asks.

“Because you know what I look like,” Oikawa tells him. “It’s only fair.”

_“Fine, I guess. Black hair. Dark eyes.”_

“Tall or short?”

Iwaizumi doesn’t answer right away. _“Average.”_

“Oh, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa laughs, delighted, “that’s something only short people say!”

Iwaizumi doesn’t take the bait. _“What did you just call me?”_

Oikawa replays his previous sentence in his mind and feels a flush creeping across his face. “Er… what?”

_“You just called me ‘Iwa-chan’.”_

“So?”

Iwaizumi chuckles. _“That’s so dumb.”_

Oikawa feels relieved and launches into a new rant on all the reasons why Iwaizumi needs to watch _The X-Files_ and is a horrible person for never doing so.

The days bleed into weeks and the weeks inch along into months. Oikawa grows restless in his tiny box as the three month marker comes and goes. His Internet gets repaired at last and Oikawa immediately hastens to update his Instagram and Twitter with photos of Earth through his little porthole and the dismal state of his pantry. Then he poses for a selfie and manages to capture a slice of home behind him. He uploads it immediately.

 ** _One month to go and then it’s time for a welcome-back party. Guess I still have to #Planet_** ( °٢° )

Iwaizumi calls him two hours later.

_“That pun was bad and you should feel bad.”_

Oikawa gasps dramatically. “Iwa-chan, you checked my Twitter? I knew you couldn’t get enough of me.”

_“Please. It’s all over the Internet right now. ‘Oikawa Tooru returns to social media. Global warming has stopped. The world is at peace.’”_

Oikawa snorts before a thought hits him. “Wait a minute – you have a Twitter? What is it?”

_“Oh no. I’m not telling you.”_

“What? Why?”

_“Because you already snoop into my private life enough as it is. I don’t need you screwing with me there, too.”_

Oikawa scoffs. “Iwa-chan, I’m offended. C’mon, I’ll totally follow you!”

_“No.”_

“IWA-CHAN!”

A pause. _“No.”_

Oikawa crosses his arms. “If you don’t tell me it then I’m going to annoy you with more puns until you give.”

_“You're bluffing.”_

“Where’s a fish in orbit?”

_“…”_

“Trouter space.”

_“…”_

“What do planets like to read? Comet books!”

_“…Oikawa.”_

“Where does an astronaut park his ships?”

_“Wait…”_

“At a _parking meteor!”_

_“Christ.”_

“Oh, oh, here’s another good one. How do you get a baby astronaut to fall asleep?”

_“A baby... That doesn’t even…”_

“You rocket!”

_“Goodbye, Oikawa.”_

Oikawa laughs as Iwaizumi hangs up. He takes a moment, just watching the Earth as it spins slowly on its axis and all the people live their lives. Somewhere down there, Iwaizumi Hajime is shaking his head in frustration. Is he smiling? Is he thinking of Oikawa half as much as Oikawa thinks of him?

He’s in some dangerous territory, he realizes. The golden rule of astronauts still rings true for him, they’re always alone, but Iwaizumi is threatening to break through, and somehow that's scarier than facing the void of space.

“One more month,” he says to himself, frowning, and picks up his phone. He pouts up at the camera as he snaps a picture and posts it on Twitter.

**_When ur mean coworker won’t give u his Twitter name #CometMeBro_ **

Iwaizumi calls him one hour later.

.

On the one hundredth day, Oikawa’s Internet goes back out and he’s officially watched all of his movies three times and is working on his fourth run through. “Why is _E.T._ so sad?” Oikawa asks and knows Iwaizumi will answer.

_“Why do you only watch space movies? Aren’t you sick of it yet?”_

“Bite your tongue,” Oikawa scolds. “Space is my life.”

Iwaizumi pauses. _“Pretty lonely life.”_

They rarely talk about serious things – emotional things – but Oikawa is already rather emotional from watching _E.T._ try to find his way home and he slowly admits, “It can be, but… it’s also rewarding. I don’t know what else I could do.”

 _“A long time ago,”_ Iwaizumi starts carefully, _“you mentioned that the ISS could have hired chimps and they’d have done a better job than the astronauts there now.”_

Oikawa frowns. "Damn straight.”

_“Is that because of Ushijima Wakatoshi?”_

He hisses. “I’d prefer you didn’t say his name.”

_“You and he worked together before, right? On that six-man mission. And you were trainees together, too.”_

“I see you did your homework on me,” Oikawa says bitterly.

_“I read that two people were up for a contract with the International Space Station. Ushijima Wakatoshi and Oikawa Tooru.”_

“And Ushiwaka got the job and I got sent here.”

_“But you could’ve had another job. Another six-man mission. And then you could’ve reapplied for the ISS. Instead you jumped into this mission and you’ll miss your chance. Isn’t that what you wanted? To be in space as long as possible? Why do this mission?”_

Oikawa blows out a sigh and floats on his back through his ship. “Because I was originally up for that commanding position at the ISS. Then Ushijima Wakatoshi reminded the board of my injury.”

_“Injury?”_

“During the six man mission, I got cocky. Our left engine was losing power and I thought I could fix it. I almost completely screwed up and blew open our tanks. We would’ve all been killed. At the last minute, I managed to get it back under control, but the ship still took damage. The turbulence knocked me around and a piece of shrapnel went right into my knee. We had to call the mission short and go back. My mistake cost me my chance at the ISS and nearly the entire crew. Ushiwaka was very detailed in his accounts.”

_“I… I didn’t know that.”_

“It was covered up, of course. People need to keep funding these things, you know. Anyways, I’m sure you’re aware that astronauts need to be in tip-top condition. The slightest health problem and you’re out. My injury was dusted over, I wasn’t punished in any way, but they gave me the lowest risk mission they could think of and told me to take it or leave it. The only reason they did that is because I have a way with the public.”

_“You’re their advertisement.  An endorsement.”_

“Yep. I don’t really mind because it means I got to come back up here. One last time.”

It hurts to think about. That his career was cut short because of a simple rookie mistake, of the same arrogance that got him through over twenty years of training and preparation. He’ll retire after this, and every time he’ll look up at the stars he’ll think of the person who took his chance right out from under him.

 _“I’m sorry,”_ Iwaizumi says and gone is the usual gruffness. In its place is something that makes Oikawa’s ribs feel like they’re shrinking. _“If it’s any consolation, I’ve talked to Ushijima before, too, and he’s doing horribly. Stressed all the time. Doesn’t make any space puns or anything. And he doesn’t even have half as many of followers as you do.”_

Oikawa tries to laugh but it sounds more like a sob.

 _“My point is,”_ Iwaizumi says, _“that this means more to you than it does to him. Before I really knew you, I thought you were just this cocky, spoiled brat who got whatever he wanted and didn’t take his job seriously.”_

Oikawa prepares to melt. “And now?”

 _“I still think you’re a cocky, spoiled brat,”_ Iwaizumi’s voice is interrupted by interference and Oikawa deflates at his words, _“but I also think you’re incredibly smart, passionate, and strong. There’s a reason why they let you do this alone, and you said it yourself. You’re the best at what you do, Tooru.”_

The sound of his name is what does it. His tears form as tiny balls at the corners of his eyes, unable to shed in the zero gravity, and he wipes at them with a weak laugh. “I think that if I’d met you while I was still on Earth, before my first mission, I would have done things a lot different.”

 _“Of course you would’ve,”_ Iwaizumi huffs. _“I wouldn’t have let you do anything stupid.”_

“No, you wouldn’t,” Oikawa agrees and smiles. “You’d have called me ‘Shitty-kawa’ and kept me in line. I bet we would’ve worked together on lots of missions.”

_“It’s probably for the better. We wouldn’t have gotten a lot done.”_

“That’s sort of true,” Oikawa admits. “We talk a lot, don’t we?”

Iwaizumi hums in affirmation, like he’s reminiscing. Oikawa remembers, too, of their long talks and realizes that Iwaizumi has been subtly cheering him on this entire time, supporting him and caring for him, and Oikawa has done little in return. He simultaneously feels a rush of gratitude and affection as well as the desire to make it up to him and more. He also thinks he might seriously be able to fall for this guy, and, for the first time, thinks that might not be such a bad thing.

“Hey, Iwa-chan?”

 _“Yeah?”_ Iwaizumi sounds expectant and Oikawa’s suddenly aware of the atmosphere. It’s charged, heavy with anticipation, and Oikawa’s nerves shoot straight to hell.

“How would you have a communion in space if you don’t have mass?”

Iwaizumi is silent for a long time and then he laughs, and laughs, and laughs.

 _“Shitty-kawa,”_ Iwaizumi calls him and Oikawa can feel the affection there. It makes him ache with the want to be there next to him and be able to see him form those words, hold his hand as they watch _E.T._ together without hundreds of thousands of miles of distance between them.

"Fifty-two more days,” he muses, “and then I can hear that laugh with my own ears.”

_“I think you should get back to work.”_

“Aw, did I embarrass you?”

_“I don’t know what you do to me.”_

_._

“When I come back,” Oikawa says on the one-hundred and twentieth day, “I want to meet you.”

Iwaizumi huffs. _“You don’t need to make any promises to me, Oikawa.”_

Oikawa frowns. “I know I don’t. But I’m going to. I want to meet you.”

Iwaizumi sounds hesitant. _“You’re only saying that because I’m the only person you’ve talked to for the last five months.”_

“It’s because you’re kind,” Oikawa interjects, “and smart. And funny. And you sound really hot.”

Iwaizumi breathes out slowly. _“You don’t even know me.”_

“I know you.”

_“No, I mean… you’ve never seen me.”_

Oikawa feels something painful in his chest. To hear that voice, usually so confident and cool, in such a soft and sad tone, upsets him. “You’re right. I haven’t.” Oikawa chews his lip nervously. “But, Iwa-chan, your words alone already have made you the most beautiful person on that little planet down there.”

_“You loser.”_

“An _honest_ loser.”

For a long time, Iwaizumi says nothing. Oikawa worries that he’s left, that he’s screwed this up.  Maybe he’s read all the signs wrong and Iwaizumi isn’t that interested in him after all. _“Oikawa, I…”_ He exhales, and Oikawa can feel the weight of Iwaizumi’s concerns. He can sense Iwaizumi imagining every possible outcome: good, bad, nothing all together. _“When you say things like that…”_

Oikawa smiles, but it’s hollow, nervous. “Yes?”

_“It’s… not that I don’t want to.”_

“You’re worried what other people will think.”

 _“No… no, I don’t care what they’d think about… us,”_ Iwaizumi says carefully. _“I’m… this job… I spent my entire life working for this. Since I was six years old I wanted to do this. You, of all people, know how that feels.”_

“Yes,” Oikawa says, because he does understand.

 _“I don’t want the validity of my work challenged,”_ Iwaizumi says quickly, strained and faint. It's a new kind of distance that Oikawa immediately decides that he doesn't like even more than the physical one. _“I don’t want my position to change – for better or for worse – because of something… between us. Do you understand what I mean?”_

It’s the smart answer. Oikawa recognizes that. He knows that both of their careers could be on the line if they got too close. Iwaizumi is trying to stop that from happening, trying to give them an out so that they can carry on with their highly specialized and competitive jobs. Oikawa being in the public eye isn’t making that any easier. All of their conversations are recorded, too. All anyone has to do is sit down and listen to their talks to see for themselves how smitten Oikawa is with the operator. The entire time Iwaizumi has been guarding himself against that.

“I won’t interfere with your work,” he promises. “If you tell me no, I won’t ask again, Iwa-chan. I just… I’ve never felt like this with anyone else. You make me actually _want_ to be on Earth. Do you know how crazy that is?”

Iwaizumi chuckles. _“If_ you _say it’s crazy, then it must be true.”_

Oikawa closes his eyes as he rests his forehead against the window. “I mean it, Iwa-chan. If you don’t think there’s a single chance for this to work, if you don’t want to risk what you’ve worked for all this time, just say no and I won’t ask again. So… when I land, will you be there?”

Iwaizumi exhales, thinks, and Oikawa’s heart is pounding anxiously. He’s just about to end it, save Iwaizumi the trouble, when he hears a barely audible answer. _“I’ll be there.”_

Oikawa’s eyes open. “Really?”

_“Don’t sound so surprised, idiot! Do you want me to or not?”_

“I want you to,” Oikawa assures him. “I really, really want you to.”

_“Did you… did you really mean that?”_

“Mean what?”

_“What you said earlier… about never feeling like this with anyone else?”_

Oikawa hides his laughter behind his hand. “It should be illegal to be that cute, Iwa-chan.”

_“H-hey!”_

“I meant it,” Oikawa promises, “every word.”

.

The days go by so slowly and Oikawa makes his impatience loudly known. Iwaizumi tells him to calm down and learn some self-control, but he doesn’t scold Oikawa as often as before and Oikawa knows he just as anxious for May. He even mentions some ideas for things for them to do when Oikawa lands – his old university’s volleyball team is hosting a tournament, there’s a special one-night airing of some 3D space documentary in the IMAX, a new Japanese restaurant just opened up near him. Oikawa agrees to every single one.

The one hundred and fifty-second day, the last day, is full of mixed emotions. Oikawa cherishes the view, commits everything to memory, even watches his feeble Internet connection with fondness. In less than twenty-four hours, he’ll be back on Earth. His life’s ambition will be completed. He’ll have completed the extent of his reach. It’s a scary thought, to think that everything he’s ever worked for will now just be a memory, but there is one comfort.

In less than twenty-four hours, Oikawa will meet Iwaizumi Hajime.

 _“I’ll be in the control room when you land,”_ Iwaizumi tells him, _“but I can meet you at the shuttle back to the main building.”_

“Nervous yet?”

_“A little. You?”_

Oikawa laughs. “Terrified.”

_“Sad to leave space?”_

“Yes.” Oikawa sits up. “But I’ve thought of something to keep me occupied down there.”

He doesn’t have to see Iwaizumi to know he’s blushing furiously. _“Yeah?”_

“Mmhm. I’m thinking I might give volleyball a try. You always make such a fuss over it and, really, how hard can it be?”

Iwaizumi’s voice goes flat. _“You are the absolute worst kind of human being.”_

“Then you must have the absolute worst taste in men.”

He chuckles. _“Must so. Now, give me that last set of numbers.”_

“Roger, sir.”

.

Oikawa puts on his Ray-Ban sunglasses before sliding into his orange Advanced Crew Escape suit. The gloves make it hard for him to fumble with his camera, but he snaps a selfie of himself before the autopilot can engage.

It’s the one hundred and fifty-third day, and Oikawa Tooru is going home.

His ear beeps. _“Stop making duck faces and get home already.”_

Oikawa grins. “Now who’s being impatient?” The autopilot flashes on and Oikawa twists on his helmet. “Don’t worry, honey. I’ll be home for dinner.”

_“Tooru…”_

“Yeah?”

Iwaizumi sighs and what he says next is something they both know wasn't what he was going to say. _“Be safe. See you soon.”_

“See you soon.” Oikawa relaxes into his chair and realizes he still has on his sunglasses behind his visor. At least he’ll land with some style. “Over and out.”

He pauses for a moment then, just before launch, he reaches over and presses a button. Immediately, music booms from the speakers. “ _See that girl, watch that scene, digging the Dancing Queen.”_

Oikawa mouths along as the ship shakes and, just like that, he’s shooting towards Earth at five miles per second.

.

The events following his landing are disorienting. He disembarks from his ship and a moment later he’s swarmed with cameras and reporters. They’re pushed away in favor of the medical crew, already fussing over him and congratulating him. Earth’s gravity is taxing and it’s strange to have to support himself after months of free floating, but Oikawa flashes smiles and peace signs for the cameras as he’s carted away, closer and closer to where a particular correspondent is waiting for him.

After a mad rush of meeting doctors and shaking hands and posing for pictures, Oikawa finally finds himself alone. His ear feels strange without his radio in it. It’s even stranger to walk around familiar settings, where nothing has changed and yet he feels like a completely different person.

He walks into the dark tunnel leading out the shuttle that will drive him back home and then freezes.

A single man stands just outside the shuttle, silhouetted against the bright sunlight refracting off of the lot behind him, and Oikawa knows exactly who it is. “You’re late,” the man greets and his voice sounds even more beautiful when it isn’t filtered through what felt like millions of miles of distance and eerie radio interference.

Oikawa hesitates for the briefest of seconds before he hastens forward, beaming. “Sorry, sweetheart!” he laughs. “Traffic was murder.”

Iwaizumi Hajime isn’t smiling when Oikawa runs up to him, but he does move to meet him halfway and his eyes are bright. Oikawa was right; they’re as dark as the space that he loves to lose himself in. It’s like looking at the actual personification of the voice he’s been hearing for the last five months. Even if Oikawa had no clue that Iwaizumi would be here, he would have recognized him instantly. Only, nothing could have prepared Oikawa for the sheer beauty the other man possesses. Tan skin, definitely gym-toned body, sharp face. Then, a smile cracks Iwaizumi’s stony features and Oikawa feels like he’s shooting right back up to the stars.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says breathlessly, “you’re… you’re a lot shorter than I expected.”

The smile fades into a scowl and, yes, that’s definitely who he’s been talking to all this time. “I don’t know why I should have expected anything different. You seriously couldn’t read the mood even if I wrote it down on a piece of paper and handed it to you. So much for tha—”

Oikawa interrupts him with a swift kiss and doesn’t expect Iwaizumi to respond so eagerly, hands grabbing onto his collar and pulling him down so that he doesn’t have to stand on his tiptoes. Oikawa smiles into the kiss and Iwaizumi mutters at him to shut up and kisses him again with a kind of intense, fierce sweetness that reminds him of take-off; that feeling of feeling light, shaky, and overwhelmingly happy. It felt like this.

When they break apart, Oikawa’s brain is somewhere up in orbit and he can’t stop smiling, especially when Iwaizumi huffs and starts leading him by the elbow out of the tunnel. Oikawa loses his balance and stumbles into the other with an, _‘Oof,’_ but Iwaizumi easily shoulders his weight and helps him along. Oikawa can’t help but wonder if the sun is shining down on their meeting like a happy promise for the future.

“Can’t even walk on your own,” Iwaizumi is saying. “You need me to tuck you in, too?”

“I won’t object to that.”

“Idiot.” Iwaizumi smiles. “C’mon, keep walking.”

Oikawa threads their fingers together. “One small step for man...”

And then they walk into the light.

.

Oikawa Tooru is always asked by fans and reporters what it was like to be in space.

"Cold. It was always so damn cold," he’ll say. It's a stark contrast from the newly familiar comfort of a shared bed and late mornings filled with warm sheets and the smell of coffee.

"Lonely," he also says. "It got unbearably lonely." Night after night spent waiting for the first sign of the sun curving around Earth, for the first transmission from Cape Canaveral, each expansive night made bearably by a comforting laugh in his ear.

"Beautiful," he says. "It was so beautiful."  The view had changed, but Oikawa still sees the stars every night.  He looks up, with a warm hand in his, and sees the Milky Way, points out Orion and the Big Dipper, and when he looks down he sees the universe reflected in a pair of dark eyes.

Then, he catches those dark eyes in the crowd, watching him with a mixture of pride and exasperation, like he saw the whole world, and Oikawa grips the microphone tighter in his hand as he says, "But there's nowhere I'd rather be but here."

**Author's Note:**

> Iwa-chan proceeds to kick Oikawa's ass at simulated spaceship landings and Oikawa pouts for days.
> 
> edit; yes, Iwa's twitter is totally full of vague tweets and things like [this](https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTPmYJ0_BkSavP4dPjMq1hEvHq5IDqxJ3inc80Cpot0av8qjAWx) and [this](http://sayingimages.com/wp-content/uploads/long-distance-relationship-quotes.jpg), and he can never let Oikawa know it. Ev er.
> 
> tumblr; [ghostystarr](http://ghostystarr.tumblr.com)


End file.
